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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616629">Hey, I heard you wanna talk about surviving</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALzzza/pseuds/ALzzza'>ALzzza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Oh, Doesn't it Hurt to Heal? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Feels, Dick Grayson is a Hot Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is TRYING okay?, Everything Hurts, Family Feels, Gen, Good Big Brother Dick Grayson, Good Brother Jason Todd, Honestly Jason has been such an angel so far, How Do I Tag, I hope you’re ready for when /that/ stops, Mental Health Themes, Recovery, Talk of Suicide, be ready for, but at least they're talking??, everyone is bad at talking about their shit, fight me, he has a bunch of moments in this one, laughs manically, not just yet tho :)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 18:48:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALzzza/pseuds/ALzzza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim doesn’t react but Dick ploughs on anyway, “You don’t have to be there, but we need to tell him, Timmy.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim nods but it’s too absent. So is his voice. <em>Dick doesn’t like it.</em> “You’re going to bench me, aren’t you?"</p><p> </p><p>Dick nods, hopes maybe <em>this</em> will pull a reaction out of him. Stresses, eyes never leaving Tim’s face, “You can’t be fighting right now, it’s not <em>safe</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>But it doesn’t. Tim just nods that absent nod again.</p><p> </p><p>It’s all <em>wrong</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Or, Dick Has Some Thoughts on the Tim Situation, Bruce, Surprisingly, Helps.</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Oh, Doesn't it Hurt to Heal? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1366771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>475</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hey, I heard you wanna talk about surviving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*crashes through the ceiling* hey :) guess who finally finished my next work?</p><p>Yes!! I know!! Don't faint! I've been attempting (and doing a terrible job @ it) to edit it for the last couple days :) you guys know how you stare at something so long you hate it :) yeahh, i have lost ALL my objectivity *finger guns*</p><p>But enough about that!! Let's talk about you guys! Like wow, can I just thank you so much for all your lovely comments and kudos?? I am constantly blown away with you guys!! You definitely motivated me into finally finishing this so a hundred million thanks to all of you!!</p><p>I’d also like to note that out of the two of them Jason has had a lot longer to think on the whole Tim-situation than Dick, who’s had like, a day or less, so he’s a bit of a mess because of it</p><p>Bruce comes into this one also! But no actual Tim-Bruce interactions just yet. Also?? I know I told some of you in the comments I wasn't sure how I wanted to write Bruce yet but um, yeah, I have decided I can't write him being an asshole so you all get a NICE Bruce who CARES ABOUT HIS KIDS and TRIES HIS BEST, okay? (AKA the Best bruce wayne)</p><p>I’d also like to apologize in advance if my Dick Grayson characterization is terrible, he’s probably the POV I have the most trouble writing, well, him and Bruce, so maybe OC-y, sorry.</p><p>TW: brash suicide slang, talk of/implied/reference to suicide idealization, anxious thoughts, depression + discussion of depression and suicidal thoughts, physical sighs of anxiety, inferable dissociation, (I think I’ve gotten everything but please tell me if I missed anything) FEEL FREE TO COMMENT FOR SPECIFICS IF YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU’RE HEALTH IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO ME &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Usually, Dick doesn’t get <em>nervous</em>. Nerves are for people who haven’t spent their whole life performing, nerves are for people who don’t jump off rooftops nightly. <em>Nerves</em> are for people who <em>haven’t</em> saved the world a hundred times.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t get <em>nervous</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He gets <em>worried</em>. There’s a difference. Dick Grayson doesn’t get <em>nervous</em>, he’s <em>not</em> nervous.</p><p> </p><p>He’s just really, <em>really</em> worried.</p><p> </p><p>Another sound of frustration breaking through his lips. Dick turning on his heel and pacing up the hall again. Jason’s leaning on the wall, watching him—head moving back and forth as he trails along again <em>and</em> again <em>and</em> again.</p><p> </p><p><em>He’s not nervous</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Alfred’s going to be mad you’re ruining his polished floors, Dickie.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick doesn’t stop walking at Jason’s idle remark, just grumbles in acknowledgement as he continues to pace.</p><p> </p><p>They’re in the Manor, trying to figure out a plan of attack. Or—</p><p> </p><p>No, that’s not true. They’ve figured out a plan of attack—talk to Tim before talking to Bruce, simple—and now they’re about to do the <em>attacking</em>, and—Dick’s not nervous, really. All they have to do is walk into the room down the hall, where Tim is currently <em>camped</em>, and ask him if he’s depressed. And or suicidal.</p><p> </p><p><em>Easy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Except it’s <em>not</em>, because Tim might be <em>suicidal</em>, and Dick doesn’t know <em>what the hell he’s meant to do</em>. How do you even <em>ask</em> someone if their suicidal, there’s got to be a proper way, right? Surely you don’t just, <em>ask</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hey Timmy, how’s your case, also have you felt like throwing yourself off a tall building lately, thanks.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dick has no idea what he’s meant to be <em>doing,</em> and he’s kind of freaking out. It’s not helping that <em>Jason’s</em> just casually slouching on the wall <em>watching</em> him freak out.</p><p> </p><p>Dick stops in front of him abruptly, pacing pausing so he can stare. Drags a hand through his hair, knows it’s probably a <em>mess</em>, erratic because he can’t keep his apprehension in <em>check</em>. Narrows his eyes and demands, voice only a <em>little</em> tight, “<em>Why</em> aren’t you freaking out?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason stares at him for several seconds, levelling him an unimpressed look. Answers, unbothered, “I <em>am</em>. But also, I’ve already had most of my freak out—and besides, you’re here, Dickiebird. And <em>usually</em>.” He eyes Dick’s restless hands pointedly. “When you’re not being an irrational <em>idiot</em>, you’re good at this shit.” He rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Why do you think I came to you and not Daddy Dearest?” He scoffs then, looks at Dick, regards him for a serious second. “Chill, bro. It’s just Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks away, sighing. Jason’s right, it’s just Tim. He just— “I really don’t want to mess this up, Jay.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason hasn’t stopped looking at him. Watches him carefully then says just as careful, “You’re not going to mess this up, Dick. First of all,” he smirks, drawling long and lazy. “I’m not going to <em>let</em> you—”</p><p> </p><p>Dick rolls his eyes, “Wow, thanks, <em>bro</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“—second,” Jason continues, easily ignoring Dick. “You’re <em>you</em>. Just be your normal understanding self, asshole. Maybe dial back the cheer a bit, and like.” Jason gestures vaguely to Dick’s <em>everything</em>. “Don’t be condescending and <em>stupid</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Helpful as always.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs, looking back down the hall. Eyes the door hiding Tim like it might just grow <em>teeth</em>. Drags his hands through his hair <em>again, </em>before exclaiming, annoyed, “What does that even <em>mean</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>Jason just laughs at him. Chuckles filling the hall like liquid heat, air turning warm for half a second. He’s still half-smiling when Dick turns to look at him. And it seems like Dick only sees <em>that</em> smile when the stars are aligned just right. Crooked grin tilted too far to the left, and it makes Jason look so <em>young</em>, he <em>is</em> young, but this is <em>different</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Smile perched on his lips and it’s draining away the trouble usually marring his face, eyes too gentle in the light.</p><p> </p><p>It’s soft and teasing, blink and you miss it kind of smile.</p><p> </p><p>Dick just wishes he’d wear it <em>more</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re fine, Dickie.” Pushes away from the wall, knocking their shoulders together. And <em>Dick</em> thinks Jason’s probably finding his distress a little <em>too</em> amusing. Saying, “It’s going to be fine. You’re thinking about it too much; you’re fine and it’s just <em>Tim</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>They look towards the closed door in unison. Jason still talking, “It’s going to be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs one last time, drawing in a breath. Holds it close to his chest before walking down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It’s going to be fine.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Timmy. We need to talk.” The words are out of Dick’s mouth before he can think about it. Knows the second they’re loose in the air it’s the wrong thing to say. If Tim’s frozen expression wasn’t indication enough Jason hitting him over the head definitely <em>was</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ouch.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What the hell, <strong>Dick</strong></em>.” Dick flips his head around—hands waving out to balance himself, not that he <em>needs</em> to flap his hands around like an idiot to stay balanced but whatever, habits. Finds Jason glaring at him. “That is <em>not</em> how you start conversations.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, at least Jason’s keeping to his word. Barely in the room and he’s already messing up.</p><p> </p><p><em>Great start, Grayson</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Pastes on a sheepish smile before Jason shoves him into the nearest seat. Takes a breath and tries to pull it together. Looks over at Tim and can’t help the way his heart rate picks up—he can<em>not</em> mess this up.</p><p> </p><p>Jason moves further along but he barely notices, attention caught on Tim. Can’t help but analyze everything. His hairs a little mused, like he’s been running his hand through it—a sure sign he’s working on a case with too little sleep. The circles under his eyes tell the same story, but that’s nothing new. Not really.</p><p> </p><p>No, what <em>really</em> has Dick’s attention is the way his mouth pinches around the sides, the way his eyes widen before tightening a little too much.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the way he clenches his hands to hide the <em>shaking</em>. All these little things Dick didn’t notice. How could he <em>miss</em> this? He’s meant to know Tim like the back of his hand, he’s spoken to him <em>four times</em> this week.</p><p> </p><p>How did he miss this?</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s speaking but he can’t pay attention, lets his voice fade into the background. Pulse playing in his ear like it’s auditioning for the drum gig of its <em>career</em>. He has to pull it together, Tim needs him.</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s needed him for a while, and he hadn’t even <em>noticed</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He can’t mess this up.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“—like the world is ending—what an <em>asshole</em>.” He tunes back in, knows from all the years spent around Jason and his... <em>teasing</em>, that he’s ripping into Dick. Finds it as good a cue as any; lets Tim’s cagey eyes drift over before smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Tim.” Doesn’t relax any when Tim just <em>looks</em>, he’s always had an assessing gaze—though Dick supposes he could say the same about <em>any</em> of the Bats.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine.” And doesn’t that just make Dick feel worse, because it’s very clearly <em>not</em>. Tim looks between them both, trying, “What did you want to talk about?” There’s a hesitance in the way he speaks, words slow like he can’t decide whether he wants to know or not. <em>That</em>, Dick’s knows, is a little too familiar.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s speaking before Dick can even <em>think</em> of a response. “We’re just a little worried about you, Timmy.” His voice is completely steady, and Dick would be jealous but the way it calms the room is reason enough to appreciate it. Air evening out just a little—and it’s crazy how supercharged everything was, like static in a drier—words letting out the restless energy now it’s got a <em>focus</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Dick settles more into himself; focus he can do.</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s eyes harden and then he’s speaking—voice sure, “I’m fine.” And there’s that word again, <em>fine</em>. Dick’s sure Tim <em>thinks</em> he’s fine, but <em>fine</em> doesn’t mean a hell of a lot to anyone important.</p><p> </p><p>Well, nothing <em>good</em> anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Jason must be on the same page because he replies, steadfast, voice deliberately light, “See, you say that.” His gaze doesn’t move an inch, entire focus on Tim. “But I don’t think even you <em>believe</em> it, Little Red.”</p><p> </p><p>His voice never rises from the low pitch it’s taken to, but Tim’s eyes still drop. Dick watches him as his throat works, tongue darting out to lick his lips in a way that <em>screams</em> anxious. Dick wishes he could take the shaky hands away, whisper some magic words and make this all better—Tim deserves <em>better</em>, he deserves everything he’s ever wanted, and Dick just wants to <em>help</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to help so bad; it’s blaring in his chest, like all his gut instincts are teaming up to rip his heart to pieces—thinks he <em>would</em> rip his heart to pieces if it chased Tim’s gutted look away—because Tim’s right <em>there</em> and Dick just wants to make everything <em>okay</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He’s sitting right in front of him but the air’s building up like a wall and Dick can’t make himself move any closer when it’s already blocking him off.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim, we just want to help.” The words make it past his lips smoothly, but it feels like he took a few missteps too many when Tim jerks up. Eyes sharpening, all the lingering calm in the room shattering; shards sent splintering through the air even as Tim speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t <em>want</em> your help. I’m <em>fine</em>—I don’t <em>need</em> it.” Regards Dick for a cool second then, “Thanks for the <em>concern</em>, but you can <em>go</em>.” There’s nothing but mocking in the way he pulls his words, glare not letting up.</p><p> </p><p>Dick fights down his instinct reaction, bites down the urge to snap back. <em>You think I care if you want my help</em>? building in his throat but doesn’t let it out. Has to keep his indignation to himself otherwise this conversation will never move past childish nipping. <em>Besides</em>, Tim losing his cool is a good thing; it means they’re getting through to him, even just a little.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s lazy drawl breaks through the tension and Tim shifts his glare to <em>him</em>—expression tight, ugly frown marring his face. “Nice try, Replacement. 10/10 performance.” Tim glowers harder, Jason’s casual demeanour obviously getting to him, hands flickering in his lap, tightening <em>again</em> but this time Dick can’t tell why. “Really got the whole <em>asshole</em> thing down pat, but we’re not leaving.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim grits his teeth. Grinding them together in a way his dentist would <em>not</em> appreciate. “I don’t want your <em>help</em>, Jason.” He says the word like a curse this time, tongue curling around it like it’s already mocking. And<em>, oh</em>. Dick breath hitches, because <em>of course,</em> Tim doesn’t believe them. Why would help sound like anything but a joke when everything’s telling him no one <em>cares</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s hit by a sudden wave of <em>wrongness</em>—feeling climbing up his throat to pinch behind his eyes. He wants to protect Tim from the <em>world</em>, fight anyone who tries to hurt him, but he doesn’t know <em>how</em> to fight something like this. It was so much easier when all their monsters had a face, when it was just someone Dick could punch away.</p><p> </p><p>Except, this time the only face Dick’s getting is Tim’s—this time all the monsters are in his little brother’s head. Sown in his genes and behaviours and <em>circumstance</em>. Everything he can’t control, and Dick’s never felt more helpless.</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s speaking, no revelation pausing his tracks, glare still looming, “Take it somewhere useful—or <em>not</em>, you seem to be pretty good at running away.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick opens his mouth to intervene but Jason’s already talking. <em>Glaring right back. </em>Air already taking a taunting edge when he starts, “I’m sure you’d like that, <em>right</em>? Then you wouldn’t have to deal with me stepping on your princely little toes.” Dick winces, gears up to speak <em>again</em> but Jay continues. Declarations hiding in insults. Dick wonders if anyone will ever say it <em>straight</em>. “Better get it together <em>fast</em>, birdie, I’m not <em>leaving</em>. I fucking <em>care</em> about your scrawny little ass.</p><p> </p><p>“Gonna cost everything you’ve <em>got</em> chasing me away—better try <em>again</em> ‘cause attempt number one ain’t gonna cut it.” And there’s no mistaking the words are a challenge, Dick thinks everything with Jason always <em>is</em>, but when he speaks again the abrasive edge is gone from his voice, melting into something softer. Dick can’t help the pride surfacing because that’s always been Jason <em>too</em>. Like the smile in the hall, Dick can’t <em>help</em> but find it reassuring. “We <em>care</em> about you, Timmy.”</p><p> </p><p>Looking back at Tim, it’s clear he doesn’t take any comfort from it. Head braced against his chest, hands gripping his knees <em>tight</em>. Dick’s sure his eyes are squeezed shut but his hair’s obscuring any confirmation. Dick sees Jason’s lips pinch, and worry’s churning up his gut something fierce <em>too</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Tim went from fighting to fragile in two seconds flat, it’s enough to give anyone whiplash—but mostly, Dick just wants to fix the desperate set of his shoulders when he gasps, “<em>Stop</em>. I’m fine—I’m <em>fine</em>—<em>just <strong>stop</strong></em>.” Repeating it like a mantra but this mantra’s turning hollow and stale and <em>cold</em>. Words doing more harm than good, and Dick wants to pause them in Tim’s throat, remind him to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Moves forward in his seat, half ready to reach out. Keeps his voice gentle and says, “Hey, it’s <em>okay,</em> Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim still doesn’t look up; voice tight but the panic’s clear even as he hides it, “I’m <em>fine</em>—I’m <strong>fine</strong>.” It’s wrenching, pulling Dick to pieces and setting him alight, even more so when Tim looks up. Eyes taking a frantic turn—voice so imploring, “<em>I’m fine</em>, Dick.” But he doesn’t hold Dick’s gaze for long, head dropping into his hands like he’s trying to hide away.</p><p> </p><p>Whispers like it <em>hurts</em>, “<em>I’m fine</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s standing by the time Tim curls up; legs tucked into his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Already by his side when he speaks, “I wasn’t going to—<em>I wasn’t going to</em>—” It sounds like a plead and Dick’s half hugging him in a <em>second</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you’re okay, Baby Bird. <em>Shh</em>—it’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s shaking his head, but Dick doesn’t know if it’s in <em>answer</em> or just general <em>distress</em>; tries to soothe all the same, “<em>Shh</em>—it’s okay, I <em>believe</em> you, Tim. It’s <em>okay</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick almost forgets Jason’s in the room, but then he’s talking from his place—mouth still pinched, but the way he speaks has Dick’s breath freezing. “Weren’t going to do what?”</p><p> </p><p>Hates the way he says it—tables turning so fast he can practically <em>hear</em> the wood screeching on the floorboards. “<em>Jason</em>.” The chastise is hushed but the message is clear.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Shut up.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jason doesn’t look very apologetic, glare obvious. Says through his teeth, “<em>What</em>? He needs to <em>talk</em> <em>about it</em>, <em>Dick</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He <em>knows</em> that, thank you very much—it’s just, <em>at the moment</em> Tim’s having a hard time <em>remembering to breathe</em>. Emphasizes with a glare, “<em>He</em> doesn’t need to do <em>anything</em> but <em>calm down</em>.” Feels a spike of irritation when Jason opens his mouth <em>again</em>, gearing up to <em>retort</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t get a chance to because then Tim’s speaking, drawing both their attention away.</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s suddenly <em>very</em> aware Tim’s whole body’s trembling under his palm.</p><p> </p><p>He grits his teeth. If Tim’s going to speak there’s not much Dick <em>can</em> do except paint patterns on his back and <em>listen</em>. “I wasn’t going to—I’m not <em>stupid</em>.” His voice is venomous, but the full effect’s lost. Breath hitched and muffled, face buried as it is; he’s shaking his head again, whole body curling together. Dick has to hone his ears to even <em>hear</em> him. “I wasn’t going to <em>do it</em>.” Voice getting even smaller when he whispers, “I wasn’t going to.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick thinks he can hear everything Tim doesn’t say. Isn’t sure he <em>wants</em> to. Not when he’s relying on guessing and <em>inference</em>. Doesn’t want to make his mind up before he knows for <em>sure</em>. And he can’t know for sure until Tim tells them.</p><p> </p><p>He very fervently doesn’t <em>want</em> Tim to tell him; not when it’s got him this shaken. Wants to pause this heart to heart right now, a million breathing techniques springing up in his head but Tim’s speaking before he can try talking him through even <em>one</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t going to <em>hurt you</em>. I wasn’t going to—because <em>I know</em> it would hurt you. I just, I wasn’t <em>going</em> <em>to</em> <em>do it</em>.” He’s that frantic kind of desperate again, except this time instead of looking up to convince them he goes straight to shrinking down.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I’m sorry</em>.” He says it like they’re the only words he <em>knows</em>—vocabulary melting down to leave them this. A choked off cry with too many silent admissions. A million secrets trapped together and they’re bleeding through each syllable. Dick can’t hope to decode it all, but he hears enough. Hears Tim’s putting every inch of himself into those two words.</p><p> </p><p>Hears the way he chokes on them like he’s putting every inch of himself into those two words and still doesn’t think it’s <em>enough</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It makes Dick <em>ache</em>. Wishing he could make Tim <em>understand</em> how much he is enough. Better than they <em>deserve</em>, and it hurts worse than being shot or beat or tortured. God, he’s nearly died a million times, but nothing hurts worse than this because Tim so obviously doesn’t <em>believe</em> it.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s moving as well now, sliding off his seat just to kneel in front of Tim. Dick doesn’t stop drawing circles on Tim’s back. Jason leaning forward to reassure in that quiet understanding voice, “I know buddy. You did so good, it’s <em>okay</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim just shakes his head, gasps echoing louder than his words when he speaks, “But I <em>wanted</em> to. Jason I really, really <em>want</em> to. I’m<em> so <strong>sorry</strong></em>.”</p><p> </p><p>It <em>terrifies</em> Dick, has him holding his breath—doesn’t think he could move even if he <em>wanted</em> to.</p><p> </p><p>But he doesn’t have to, not when Jason’s leaning forward even more, wrapping his arms around Tim as well. He has to bend over in a way that looks awkward, still taller than Tim even on his knees. “But you <em>didn’t</em>—it’s <em>okay,</em> Tim.  You did so good, I’m so proud of you—you did <em>amazing</em>, Baby Bird.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim’s moving his head side to side again, denying or at least trying to. “You don’t get it. I’m not—I didn’t—” Voice hoarse; choppy enough to have him pausing, dragging in a breath before getting out, “—<em>I really want to die</em>.”</p><p> </p><p><em>And</em>—</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s breath rushes out all at once, feels like he went toe to toe with a truck and <em>lost</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like he didn’t see where this was going, but it’s different—it’s <em>different</em> when Tim’s saying it, when Dick can’t ignore it—it’s <em>worse</em> than devastating. Feels like every time he’s had to watch someone take a hit, <em>his</em> <em>family</em>. Feels like every time he had to wait outside Leslie’s clinic while one of his siblings bled out on the table. It feels like every time Bruce took a bullet meant for <em>him</em>, it feels like Wally and Donna and Roy and—<em>god</em> so many <em>people</em>, how many times has he had to sit by helpless not knowing if they were going to live or <em>die</em>?</p><p> </p><p>How many times <em>did</em> they?</p><p> </p><p>But it’s different—Tim’s not bleeding out no matter how much it feels like it—<em>he’s right here</em>. And maybe that’s why it hurts so much <em>worse,</em> because Tim’s right here, directly in front of him <em>and he doesn’t want to be</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to die—he wants to <em>die</em>, and it hurts so much worse than anything because he might have. God, <em>Tim might have killed himself</em>—if he was an inch less fucking selfless, if Tim just didn’t <em>care</em> it would hurt them—if he convinced himself it <em>wouldn’t</em>—god Dick could have been burying his brother right now. Tim could’ve killed himself quite happily in the three weeks Jason was away and Dick wouldn’t have known until it was too late.</p><p> </p><p>It <em>hurts</em> so much worse than <em>anything</em>—because maybe Tim isn’t bleeding out in Leslie’s clinic, maybe he didn’t get shot at or tortured or beat—</p><p> </p><p>But he was still <em>dying,</em> he was still dying right in front of Dick and he didn’t fucking <em>notice.</em> He didn’t notice and it <em>hurts so much.</em></p><p> </p><p>Jason’s speaking again, and Dick can tell from the sound of his voice he’s soldiering through his reaction—Dick does the same, pushes all the what-ifs from his mind because <em>Tim’s right here</em>, he’s right in front of him and Dick has never been more <em>relieved</em> in his entire fucking <em>life</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s voice filters through only just, unburdened by Dick’s own whirling mind, “I know, buddy. But you didn’t—you did so, <em>so</em> well. I’m <em>so</em> proud of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick doesn’t say anything. Not yet. Just keeps running his fingers through Tim’s hair, notices all too easily when Tim’s stops shaking, stops <em>moving</em>—stops heaving in breaths. And maybe he’s taken the words to heart for once, but then when has it ever been that easy?</p><p> </p><p>And of course, <em>not this time</em> because just when Dick’s starting to worry Tim’s not breathing <em>at all</em> he moves. Up and across the room before Dick can even think, hand dropping uselessly to his side as he shares a look with Jason. They don’t move, and maybe that would be different if Tim was <em>running</em>, hell Dick half expected him to throughout this entire conversation... but, he’s <em>not</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he just stands there, faced away; crowding himself against the wall like he can bury himself there and pretend none of this exists. He’s just as still but this time Dick can make out the methodic breaths he’s taking. Finds it somewhat comforting but not so much it stops him sharing another look with Jason.</p><p> </p><p>Who just <em>shrugs</em>, looking a little lost himself. Dick lets out a heavy breath before dragging himself to his feet, eyes never straying from Tim’s back. Stands level with Jason for a minute before half stepping towards Tim, worry quickly winning over patience.</p><p> </p><p>Jason stops him, shifting in front of him—not enough to block Dick’s path by any means but enough to grab his attention all the same.</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks to him, feels his frown matching Jason’s when he shakes his head. Intones quietly, eyes glancing to Tim, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Stare moves back to Dick, frown resting even heavier, still manages to sound blithe when he continues, “Better wait him out, right, Dickface? This is already going way better than I thought it would.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs, inclined to agree. Watches Tim even as Jason knocks their shoulders together. But then the <em>agreeing</em> doesn’t stop anxiety clawing at his legs, telling him to <em>move</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He swallows down the urge, eyes moving to Jason again, can’t help but throw back, “Yeah, it <em>was</em>, but now you’ve gone and <em>jinxed</em> it.” Draws his words out mockingly, “Thanks for that, Little Wing.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s expression is just as sarcastic. Still, he makes the appropriate <em>whoops</em> gesture; eye-roll showing how apologetic he really is. “You really think lucks ever been on our side, pretty boy? ‘Cause I’ve got about twenty bullet wounds too many that will argue <em>otherwise</em>.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Yes. I do</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Looks at Jason, looks at Tim, has to swallow down the response. It feels too thick in his throat, doesn’t know who’s looking out for them but he’ll thank them every day. Doesn’t matter what anyone says, luck’s been on their side enough times to keep them coming back and that’s all Dick can ask. <em>They’re all still here</em>.</p><p> </p><p>That’s enough—it <em>has</em> to be.</p><p> </p><p>Says instead, smirk stretching out jeeringly, “Aw <em>Jay</em>, ask <em>anyone</em>. This pretty boy thinking is too much to ask on a good day.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason huffs a laugh, shoulders dropping a little. Looks at Dick, eyes screaming he doesn’t buy it for a second—what, Dick’s not quite sure. “Sure thing, Goldie. Not like you’re a human being or anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick twists a smile, but it soon flickers out. Can’t bring himself to speak when the room sits so heavy.</p><p> </p><p>Counts in time with Tim’s breathing, punctuates each numeral with a tap of his finger. Hands moving against his thigh—can practically hear the voice in his head screaming at the tell.</p><p> </p><p>Sounds <em>kinda</em> like Bruce.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like an eternity before Tim turns around again. Dick’s chest chiming in insistently when he straightens, face blank and posture <em>perfect</em>. Like this is all some business interaction he’d really like to close. Studies them for a while before speaking.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re going to tell Bruce.” It’s a statement more than a question and Dick frowns a little <em>harder</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Glances at Jason before pronouncing, “Yes. We’re going to tell Bruce.”</p><p> </p><p>That’s always been part of the plan.</p><p> </p><p>Tim doesn’t react but Dick ploughs on anyway, “You don’t have to be there, but we need to tell him, Timmy.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim nods but it’s too absent. So is his voice. <em>Dick doesn’t like it</em>. “You’re going to bench me, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick nods, hopes maybe <em>this</em> will pull a reaction out of him. Stresses, eyes never leaving Tim’s face, “You can’t be fighting right now, it’s not <em>safe</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>But it doesn’t. Tim just nods that absent nod again.</p><p> </p><p>It’s all <em>wrong</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“What else.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick doesn’t even notice taking a step towards Tim until Jason catches his arm. Dick’s eyes stray to him. Watches him jerk his head a little, taking over easily. “Gonna get you some help, Timbo.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick just takes a breath, settling again. Focuses on Tim’s narrowing eyes instead.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to talk to a therapist.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason just quirks an eyebrow, looking amused and not at all surprised by Tim’s venom. Drawls utterly unmoved, “Yea <em>no</em>, you’re going to <em>try</em> going to a therapist. And a doctor, probably.” A psychiatrist, Dick thinks but doesn’t correct. Still isn’t sure if he completely knows the difference. “Call a rain check after three weeks and if it doesn’t work; fine. You won’t have to go.”</p><p> </p><p>That’s... actually a pretty good compromise. He wonders how long it’ll last.</p><p> </p><p>Tim looks utterly unmoved himself, probably thinking the same thing. “It’s not going to work.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason just smirks. “Three weeks, Baby Bird. Gotta <em>try</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim turns his stare away, shoulders dropping deeply before straightening. Looking back at them the same second. Dick straightens up automatically, mirroring him.</p><p> </p><p>Thinks that’s probably a good call when Tim speaks again. “So, you’re going to fix me.”</p><p> </p><p>He sounds a little idle, a little <em>too</em> idle; has Dick looking sideways before he can think about it because—</p><p> </p><p>Dick hates that word.</p><p> </p><p>Tim doesn’t <em>need</em> to be fixed, there is no <em>fix</em>—he’s heard it thrown around so many times. Like someday they’ll all wake up without their scars and trauma, like their minds will stop racing and hands will stop shaking, like all the hurt will disappear. Everything will just be <em>fixed</em>, like it’s <em>easy</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But... Dick’s been around for a while, and as far as he’s concerned you don’t get fixed, you get up and you heal, you survive, and you <em>live</em>. There’s nothing wrong with being broken. God, everyone he knows is a little broken. He’s got so many cracks it feels like he’ll fall to pieces. Take a step and shatter, falling to the floor like he never even <em>left</em>. But that’s what makes them, and it’s awful and you’ll hate it but in the end, there’s nothing <em>wrong</em> with being broken.</p><p> </p><p>All his favourite people are broken too.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not <em>fixing</em> you. We’re going to try and help you <em>heal</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>And god, Dick hopes Tim gets this. Hopes years of picking up on everything they don’t say finally pay off and he, for once, hears everything they <em>do</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Leaves Dick guessing again, watching the way Tim’s body slums. It makes him look tired. More tired than the bruises under his eyes ever will. But more than that he looks <em>defeated</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Dick hates that with his entire being too.</p><p> </p><p>But then Tim’s turning around, and Dick feels like throwing out something snarky. Feels like asking Jason for permission to move forward. <em>Can I go <strong>now</strong></em>?</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t bother, not when Tim’s shoulders start trembling again. Doesn’t think he could tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. Takes two large steps and he’s across the room.</p><p> </p><p>Wraps his arms around Tim. Wraps his arms around him like he’s held himself back from doing ever since talking to Jason. Feels better than he has in what feels like <em>years</em> when Tim turns around as well, not hugging back but he’s <em>here</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He’s here and Dick’s not going to let him go anytime soon.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey shh, it’s okay, Tim. <em>I’ve got</em> <em>you</em>, it’s okay.” Soothes his hand along Tim’s back, feels like crying himself when he lets out a sob then just <em>doesn’t stop</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And yeah, Dick knows something about that too. Swallows and continues his low babble, “I’m not gonna let you go, okay? I’m <em>not letting you go</em>, Baby Bird.” <em>I’m not letting you <strong>leave</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>Keeps up a steady stream of murmurs until Tim calms a bit, stops shaking except for the bodily jerk he gets periodically when his breath hitches. He doesn’t make any move to escape Dick’s hug, just stays there, head hidden against Dick’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>Which is great, because <em>Dick’s</em> sure as hell not going to let go anytime soon. Not unless he <em>has</em> to.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” Dick looks up, didn’t <em>forget</em> Jason. Mostly... was just a little preoccupied. Jason continues, not looking overly bothered by Dick’s lapse in attention. “I’m gonna make him something to eat then he can crash. Text Bruce later? There’s nothing big going on, right? He won’t miss us on patrol.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick nods, watches Jason give the thumbs up before heading to the door.</p><p> </p><p>Stops him suddenly, voice a quiet hiss, “Hey, wait!” Jason turns around, expression question enough and Dick expands, “I’ll take him to that alcove? The one Cass likes. It’s closer to the kitchen.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason gestures his assent, head bobbing. “Yeah, cool.” Grins smartly and adds, “Rich people and their winding halls, amiright?” Dick huffs a halfhearted laugh; watches Jason turn and trail out the door for real this time.</p><p> </p><p>Looks down at Tim. Contemplates relaying his intent but, in the end, doesn’t bother. Just scoops Tim up and starts walking as well.</p><p> </p><p>Figures if he minded, he’d be making his protest known.</p><p> </p><p>He gets to the alcove which like most things in the Manor is bigger than necessary. If Dick was gonna call it anything, he’d call it a tucked-away room. Sort of hard to see unless you’re looking for it, off the main hallway. It’s got a huge window overlooking the grounds which is probably why Cass likes it so much. He’s caught her spinning on the hardwood floors a couple of times, though it’s not the first time he’s found her dancing somewhere randomly.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a window seat, probably big enough for three people, and a low coffee table adjacent. The view is masked by the night, moonlight shielded by the clouds. Dick doesn’t particularly <em>care, </em>just sprawls out on the seat, Tim still in his arms, and waits. Absently dragging his fingers through Tim’s hair all the while.</p><p> </p><p>Starts out looking down the hall. Tries to make out the sound of Jason in the kitchen, straining his ears a little, but can’t. He’s either taking care not to bang around, which probably isn’t <em>needed</em> considering most everyone is always <em>awake</em> until early morning <em>anyway,</em> or the door’s shut. Thinks it’s probably the former, what with the light filtering out into the otherwise dim hall.</p><p> </p><p>Turns his attention to Tim after a while, thinks it’s probably a good idea Jason’s making food ‘cause Tim’s already dozing. Hands still threading through his hair Dick starts to hum, some absent tune that he can vaguely remember from his childhood.</p><p> </p><p>Words lost and faded from years, but he thinks he can drag up some far-off memory of his mother singing.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t make him feel as sad as it did years ago, but there’s still the very prominent fear that he’s getting older, that the memories are getting further away.</p><p> </p><p>Wonders if he could recall her face at all, if not for the photos he has.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of footsteps break through his musing. Still quiet down the hall but Dick knows he can be silent as the rest of them when Jason chooses. It takes a couple seconds for Jason to come into view, rounding the corner with a tray in hand. He’s looking down at it, holding it carefully like he doesn’t want it to spill.</p><p> </p><p>He slows as he gets closer, looking up. Eyes taking in the scene then finding Dick’s. “He asleep?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks back down at Tim. His face is hidden but Dick's sure his breathing isn’t nearly as even as it should be. “No. Just drifting, I think the food’s a good idea though.” Eyes finding Jason again, still trailing closer. “I’m not sure when he last ate.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason hums, setting the tray down on the table. “Yeah, me either.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks back down at Tim, thinks he’ll probably have to let go.</p><p> </p><p>Jason must see his reluctance because he imparts, shoulders tittering as he moves forward, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Crouching down in front of them, voice slowly rising louder than the murmur they’d been talking in, “Tim?” Pitches it melodically when he tries, “T-<em>im</em>, wake <em>up</em>.” Half rolls his eyes when Tim doesn’t move. “C’mon, Timmy. You don’t want to listen to Dickie’s god-awful singing anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick huffs when he feels Tim shift, <em>of course, that’s what woke him up</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Jason looks like he’s all too pleased that’s the case, leans in to talk to Tim. Hands waving as he goes. “Hey there, Tim-Tam. Gotcha some grub, think you can eat that for me?” Tim doesn’t say anything so Jason adds, probably going for a bribe, “Eat some then we can put you to bed, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim's head turns to look at Jason more surely. Sounds panicked when he blurts, “You’re leaving.”</p><p> </p><p>A frown drops onto Dick’s face. Didn’t think Jason had implied that at all. And he mustn’t have because he frowns as well, reassures, “Hey, <em>no</em>. I’m not leaving, couldn’t chase me away with all your silly little sticks if you <em>wanted</em> too.” Dick hums, mostly in agreement, half-amused Jason's still managing to insult them when while being <em>comforting</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Tim’s voice is quiet, but he sounds hopeful enough. So, <em>really.</em> Dick can’t fault Jason because it's obviously <em>working</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Really,” Jay agrees, quirking half a grin. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” Rolls his eyes and continues, hands half gesturing from where they’re resting against his knees, “And you know Dickhead, world’s toughest fungus. Couldn’t tear him away with all the crowbars on Earth, Little Red.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick has to bite back a laugh, finds Jason’s death nudge a lot more amusing than usual, just at the general <em>absurdity</em> of the entire situation. Still manages a reprimand, “Really? <em>Crowbars</em>? Are you making <em>death references</em>, right <em>now</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason half shrugs, moving the coffee table closer with a <em>scrreeech</em>. Sitting down in front of the window seat while Tim uncurls. Legs swinging around so he can sit up properly. Legs half brushing Jason's shoulders every time he moves, Jason stretching his own out under the table. Dick sits up with him; Tim still half leaning on his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s voice sounding from the floor, as if there hadn't been a pause for movement at all, “How can you be so <em>cold</em>, Dickie? To think I would ever be so flippant—I have <em>deep, emotional</em> <em>scars</em>, Big Bird. <em>Scars</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick scoffs, first of all, not doubting that’s <em>true</em> for a second, no matter how much Jason likes to bring it up all <em>flippant</em>. Decides to humour him, anyway. Relaxing back a bit when Tim starts eating, hand reaching up to fiddle with his hair again. “We <em>get it</em>, asshole. You’re a zombie, it’s all very <em>tragic</em>. Grab one of your <em>many</em> leather jackets and start sprouting mournful poetry—add to the aesthetic, y’know.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason sounds amused again, throwing back, “<em>Psh</em>. Like you know anything about <em>aesthetic</em>, Mr Mullet.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick takes it for the appreciations it <em>is</em>, voice mock outraged when he pitches, “That’s what everyone was wearing!”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s full faux sympathy, chiding, “Dick, <em>sweetheart</em>, that doesn’t make it <em>okay</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick hums, taking his eyes off Tim for a second. Has to lean back to look at Jason, head resting on the window as he peers past Tim’s shoulder. Watches for a moment then realizes—</p><p> </p><p>“Jason?” Jason throws his head back, manages to peer at Dick from where he's seated, view upside down. “How’d you know this was where I was talking about?” He looks a little confused, so Dick adds, “The alcove.”</p><p> </p><p>Somehow doubts it’s ‘cause he found Cass dancing around here too.</p><p> </p><p>Jason scrunches his nose, looking unconcerned. “Oh, that.” Turns a bit sheepish when he shrugs, “I used to read here all the time; Manor’s a bit full-on, y’know?” His eyes trail away, taking in the room. “Here’s nice though.” Looks back at Dick and explains, “Figured this is where you meant, there’s only so many alcoves close to the kitchen.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” Dick looks at the room again, tries to imagine young Jason Todd hiding from Bruce and Al, guesses this is as good a place as any. Feels a stab of guilt.</p><p> </p><p>Thinks trying to hide away from the Manor should’ve ended with <em>him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It’s weird to think about, what with how many of them there are <em>now</em>—Dick and Jason were the only ones <em>alone</em> at the Manor. Relatively speaking anyway, there’s always Bruce and Alfred but that’s <em>Bruce</em> and <em>Alfred</em>.</p><p> </p><p>God knows Dick had tried to escape them every living moment when he first arrived <em>too</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>He should’ve been here</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Feels like he’s done this back and forth a million times. Could playback a thousand things he should’ve done differently; majorly not letting Jason fend for himself when he really didn’t <em>have</em> to.</p><p> </p><p>Could probably say sorry every day for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough. Thinks if he even <em>tried</em> Jason would <em>shoot him</em>. Says instead, “I used to hide on the roof.” Deliberates, “And the trees now that I think about it. There’s this huge one near the library balcony.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason looks surprised, like Dick hadn’t been a shit of a kid too. <em>Adorable</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But he’s grinning the next second, suddenly thrilled. “Oh my<em> god</em>. You’re totally the reason Bruce was always peering over balconies when I went missing!”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and Dick imagines it, grinning. Admits, a bit reluctant, “...<em>Probably</em>.” Cards his fingers through Tim’s hair; thinks he should start bringing up all the stupid shit he did if this is the reaction. “He still did that? Man, B really didn’t have a clue, did he?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason snorts, still smiling. “Still doesn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick hums, can’t really argue with that. Still, feels the need to point out, more to himself than anything, “He didn’t do so bad.” Gaze finding Jason's again.</p><p> </p><p>He looks like he might disagree for half a second, eyes turning to Tim. Finally settles with, “I guess.” Which still isn’t <em>agreement</em> but whatever. Dick’s taking it.</p><p> </p><p>Dick smooths Tim’s hair back, observes he’s pretty fully slumped against Dick’s side again. He peers around his other shoulder, finds most of the soup is gone. Says even as Jason stands up, “I’m pretty sure he’s falling asleep again.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason scoffs, stretching lazily. “I’m pretty sure he <em>is</em> asleep.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick hums, not making a move to get up himself. Thinks it’ll be a bit hard anyway, what with Tim half lying on top of him. Suggests, watching Jason, “I’ll clean up the food, you take him to his room?”</p><p> </p><p>Jay nods, moving to scoop Tim up. Mumbles more to himself than Tim, “C’mon, Tim-Tam; bedtime.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick stands himself, doesn’t hear what Tim grumbles but Jason’s response still fills the hall as they walk away, voice echoing weirdly, “Sure thing, sleeping beauty. Whatever you say.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs, gathers up the tray and starts walking in the opposite direction.</p><p> </p><p>The kitchen lights are still on, but the counter is already spotless. Jason probably having cleared most of the mess, it’s not really <em>acknowledged</em> but Dick’s sure everyone’s on the same page when it comes to Alfred. There’s no point of giving him <em>extra</em> work.</p><p> </p><p>Focuses on washing up the dishes.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully he finishes pretty quickly, putting them away. Pokes his head in a couple cupboards but, <em>honestly</em>? Has no idea where Jason got that tray from. Leaves it on the bench before high tailing it out of there.</p><p> </p><p>He walks to Tim’s room. It takes longer than it really should, but his mind doesn’t wander much beyond its inhabitants <em>anyway</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He gets there, footsteps silent, pausing at the doorway before trailing in. The room is dark, shadows shifting a little as the curtains move, but his attention is on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>There, curled together, are Tim and Jason.</p><p> </p><p>The doorway light only covers a slither of their chests, but Dick thinks he would recognize them even in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>If someone had told him about this exact scene years ago, he would’ve called them <em>crazy</em>. Still, it helps. Some of his restless energy settling down. Watches them for a while, back leaning against the wall, knows they’d probably call him creepy but whatever. He’s cashing in his big brother points, if he can’t watch them sleep every once and a while, what’s the <em>point</em>?</p><p> </p><p>His mind drifts, restless energy coming back. Knows it’s only there partly because he’s usually swinging over rooftops this time of night.</p><p> </p><p>Mostly ‘cause of everything else.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, legs itching to go find Bruce. Get everything out in the open, get the ball rolling. Knows telling him is going to be hard enough without putting it off. But... he thinks he can delay just until tomorrow morning.</p><p> </p><p>He has to talk to Tim and Jason, decide who’s coming and staying...</p><p> </p><p>He also <em>really</em> doesn’t want to leave this room.</p><p> </p><p>Drags his phone out of his pocket, stares at the screen for a while before turning it on, blue light drenching the room. Finds Bruce’s number easily, knows he should probably call...</p><p> </p><p>Thumbs the text icon instead.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>9:34 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hey taking the night off w/ Jay and Tim</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>call if the worlds ending but otherwise dont</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Stares at the text bubbles before adding—knows Bruce hates it when they text him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>9:36 PM</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>btw were fine</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Mostly.</p><p> </p><p>Puts his phone on silent before he can think on it. Knows any serious distress beacons will get to him anyway. Besides, there’s like a fifty-fifty chance Bruce will leave it be at any given time.</p><p> </p><p>Only looks up when he hears shifting, finds Jason looking over at him, eyes squinting against the extra light. He stares at Dick for a while before deciding, voice muffled from sleep, “Y’such a weirdo. You gonna watch us sleep all night?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick grins, turning his phone off before pushing off the wall. “That sounds like an invite, Little Wing.”</p><p> </p><p>This time Jason doesn’t miss a beat, “Fuck off.” Hasn’t finished before he breaks off with a yawn. Dick smirks at him, charmed. Waits patiently for Jason to finish, which he does, glaring at Dick. The full effect is lost considering he’s got killer bed head and Tim huddled in his arm’s but Dick’s not gonna tell him that. Savours the look, wishing he’d gotten a picture.</p><p> </p><p>Jason must read his smirk correctly because he huffs, mumbles a halfhearted, “Shuddup.” Shifts around, mindful of Tim. Isn’t looking at Dick when he mumbles, “If you stand there any longer, I <em>will</em> shoot you.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick hums, stepping closer. Feels he should point out Jason looks like <em>nothing</em> could make him move at the moment but doesn’t. Just slides in the other side of Tim.</p><p> </p><p>Knows ‘asleep’ could be traded in for ‘passed out from exhaustion’ considering Tim didn’t stir at all.</p><p> </p><p>They really need to limit his cases.</p><p> </p><p>Throws his arm over both of them, breaths a laugh when Jason grumbles something vaguely insulting before burying his nose in Tim’s hair and falling asleep again.</p><p> </p><p>Knows everything isn’t anywhere close to <em>okay</em> but—</p><p> </p><p>It will be.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Dick wakes up it’s to light filling the room, can hear the curtains moving behind him—probably should’ve made sure the window was shut last night. Stares at the shoulder taking up his vision, blinking away sleep. Listens to the <em>swoosh-flick</em> of the curtains as they brush along the floor. Knows each time they settle where they’re meant to be because they take the light with them, only has a second of near darkness before the wind lifts them, daylight showering in again.</p><p> </p><p>Dick shifts after a while, peering at the other occupants of the bed. Finds Jason awake, staring at the wall, hand absently smoothing against the sheets from where it’s trapped under Tim’s head.</p><p> </p><p>They’d moved a bit in their sleep. Jason’s still facing away from the door, but Tim must have shifted sometime last night. Head now tucked under Dick’s chin, using Jason’s bicep as a pillow. Dick’s got both arms curled around him; Jason’s other arm thrown over his back.</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t get a chance to comment about <em>anything</em> because Jason notices he’s awake. Eyes flickering over, is already carefully extracting his arm from under Tim’s head when he says, “Oh good, you’re awake.” Untangles, standing up, looks over at Dick again, emphasizes with a gesture. Voice a quiet hiss, “<em>Stay here</em>, I need to piss.” Before slinking out the door.</p><p> </p><p>Dick blinks after him, but in the end, decides it’s too early to understand Jason’s motivations when it comes to <em>anything</em>. Turns his attention back to Tim, craning his neck a bit so he can peer at his face. It’s a contrast to last night when the most he could see of Tim was his hair.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not so much surprising as it is disheartening to see he still looks tired in his sleep. Dark shadows smeared under his eyes; Dick’s not sure how much of Tim’s sleeping trouble is actually due to insomnia. Had never actually <em>asked</em>. Thinks it’s just as likely from behaviour.</p><p> </p><p>After all, out of all of them, Dick thinks Tim definitely has the most luck into willing himself into staying <em>awake</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Hums to himself, hand brushing up Tim’s back before settling again. Feels content enough just to lie there.</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t know how long it is before Tim shifts, nuzzling his cheek against Dick’s chest—he’s not sure Tim’s actually <em>awake</em> until he pulls away, thinking better of the action. Eyes opening to stare at Dick’s shirt.</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t make a move beyond that so Dick shifts, one hand coming up to brush his hair away. Let’s Tim’s eyes dart up before greeting, “Morning Tim.” Voice still thick with sleep, ringing quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Tim doesn’t say anything, watches him for a second before rolling onto his back.</p><p> </p><p>Away from Dick.</p><p> </p><p>He stares at the ceiling for a while before commenting. Hand spread out against the empty side of the bed. “Jason’s gone.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a flat observation but Dick suddenly understands why Jason made sure he was awake before leaving.</p><p> </p><p>“He just went to the bathroom, I’m sure the beds not even <em>cold</em> yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim curls his hand, running it against the sheets before laying it flat again. Hums in what Dick hopes is agreement—knows probably isn’t. Lets his gaze stay heavy on Tim, who’s still staring at the ceiling with a vague look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Opens his mouth to reassure again but Jason appears in the doorway, drawing both their attention away.</p><p> </p><p>Dick raises an eyebrow, taking in his slightly ruffled appearance—figures he probably ran the entire way.</p><p> </p><p>Jason just rolls his eyes in answer, flicking them to Tim. “Hey.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick follows his line of sight.</p><p> </p><p>Watches Tim frown minutely, returning his stare to the ceiling again. Dick lets out a quiet breath before moving his gaze back to <em>Jason</em>. He rolls his shoulders easily, unbothered.</p><p> </p><p>Stalks toward the bed before falling forward with a quiet <em>oomph</em>. Somehow manages to miss Tim entirely, collapsing on Dick’s legs instead. Full weight bearing down and Dick huffs.</p><p> </p><p>Squirming one leg free <em>just enough</em> to kick him in the head.</p><p> </p><p>Jason doesn’t move.</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs <em>again</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The silence stays for a while, hanging in the room. Moulding into a presence that’s entirely its own. Dick feels like it’s hanging over his shoulder, head pocking around—invisible stare burning holes in his skull.</p><p> </p><p><em>Judging</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Well.” Jason starts abruptly, rolling onto his back and Dick snatches his legs free before Jason can bear down on him again. “I’m hungry. Think Alfred will be in the kitchen?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, I dunno.” Dick scans his eyes around the room, looking for a clock. Finds one half-hidden under a stack of books, crowded on Tim’s desk, digital clockface blinking lazily.</p><p> </p><p><em>10:38</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Shrugs his shoulder in response. “Damian would’ve been down by now; depends.” Generally, half the house doesn’t get up until 11 unless they <em>have</em> to. In which case, really, <em>really</em> sucks. Shoving together a bunch of vaguely capable but also <em>very</em> sleep-deprived individuals is not a good idea. And with their track record...</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s going to blame it on lack of sleep and leave it at that.</p><p> </p><p>Jason huffs, levering himself up. Swings his legs over the edge of the bed before rising. “Either way, I want food.” Stretches his arms out until they crack, working his shoulder back and forth with a grimace. Lets them settle at his side, turning to face them, eyes flickering between them. “You coming?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick sits up as well, twisting to glance at Tim, who turns over—burrowing under covers, faced plainly away from both of them.</p><p> </p><p>Which, Dick supposes, is answer enough. Looks to Jason, standing up as well. “Yeah. I was going to find Bruce.” Asks the room in general, but his eyes are on Tim, “Any volunteers for <em>that</em> conversation?”</p><p> </p><p>Let’s the silence sit for several minutes but Tim doesn’t move, ignoring them.</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks to Jason, exchanging a glance, a frown creasing his face. Jason for his part just shrugs again, offering no further input.</p><p> </p><p><em>Useful</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim.” Dick glances at his huddled form. “Want anything to eat?”</p><p> </p><p>Silence, then a muffled but fairly clear, “No.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks to Jason who’s busy rolling his eyes, making his way to the door. “Well looks like you're getting whatever the hell we decide your getting, Tim-Tam.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick follows him, flicking his shoulder with a frown. “Don’t be an asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason scowls. “Only when you stop being a <em>dick</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick aims a dry look, gaze lazy and sarcastic. “<em>Kinda</em> hard to do that, Jaybird.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason snorts, smirks like Dick has just given permission—which, really <em>no</em>. “<em>Exactly</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick comes to a stop, head craning round to look at Tim, worries his lip subtly then tries, “Are you <em>sure</em> you don’t want anything, Timmy?”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t answer and Dick just sighs. Jason dragging him out of the room. Has to physically <em>stop</em> himself from turning around. Isn’t half down the hall when he speaks up. “Are you <em>sure</em> we should be leaving him alone?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason side eyes him. “Are you asking if I think he’s going to suddenly off himself, because the answer would be <em>no</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick frowns, stops to look at Jason. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason walks three more steps before coming to a stop himself. Turns to look at Dick, face staying blank for a couple of seconds before he sighs. Shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know, okay? Sorry.” Shakes his head, swaying on his feet. “You can’t just hover over him forever. It’s not going to help. He’ll think we don’t trust him.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s silent for several long minutes, watching Jason. Knows his face is probably a little <em>too</em> blank but. Just...</p><p> </p><p>“What if I don’t trust him?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s silent again and Dick feels like neither of them are <em>breathing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, I <em>do</em>. Of course, I do. It’s <em>Tim</em>, I trust him with my <em>life</em>. It’s just...”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows, trails off and finds he can’t continue but Jason seems to get it. Filling in easily, like the words were his to begin with. “You don’t trust him with his.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick shifts, feels himself swallowing again. “Yeah. It’s—<em>fuck</em>.” Looks at Jason and feels everything sinking, like a fever burning his insides, sitting on his skin in a cold sweat. “Do <em>you</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Jason looks back and Dick wishes he could read him. Wishes his face wasn’t smoothed over so perfectly, hopes Jason doesn’t <em>actually</em> feel as indifferent as he looks. “I think... Dick, I don’t think <em>Tim</em> trusts himself right now.” Stops and then continues the next second, “But, he said he didn’t want to hurt us and that sounds pretty fucking like Replacement. We’re going to sit down and figure this out ‘cause what else are we meant to <em>do</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>He turns around, continues walking, Dick watching his back. Doesn’t stop talking but Dick doesn’t move, “I trust him not to kill himself for one fucking <em>hour</em>. After that, I guess we’ll see.”</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the walk is silent.</p><p> </p><p>They get to the kitchen just as Alfred’s leaving, Jason brushes past, not pausing. But Dick, <em>can’t</em>. Stops in front of Alfred, tries for a smile. Thinks he probably looks like shit because Alfred’s already frowning at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Al.” Drags his hand through his hair. Manages, “Look, can you... Do you think you could check on Tim for me?” Alfred frowns harder, eyes digging holes in Dick’s skin. Any other time he might’ve caved, spilled everything on the spot in a way only <em>Alfred</em> can achieve. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe one of infinite other things currently digging into his skin, but he just. He fucking <em>can’t</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe... maybe don’t even mention anything?” Feels distinctly awful. “Can you just, check on him for me?” It feels like he’s asking Alfred to make sure Tim hasn’t slit his wrist in the bathroom and <em>hates</em> himself a little.</p><p> </p><p>Shoulders slumping, tacks on an apology like Alfred knows what the fuck he’s apologizing for. Hell, he doesn’t even know what Dick’s <em>asking</em>. “I’m sorry, you’re probably busy—”</p><p> </p><p>“Master Richard,” he interrupts, smooth as ever but he hasn’t stopped <em>frowning</em>. Dick feels like he’s shrinking, aging backwards every second. Standing in the hall like the little kid he hasn’t been for <em>years</em>. “I am quite capable. I assume he’s in his room?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Nods, swallowing again. “Yeah, thanks, Al. Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Master Dick,” his frown loses its edge, voice softening a little. Pats Dick’s shoulder with aged fingers and it’s easy to forget how <em>old</em> he is. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your concern is appreciated, whatever the reason. I’ll check on Master Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>Pats his shoulder once more before drifting down the hall. Dick stays for a second. Takes in the empty manor, wishes it didn’t weigh on him.</p><p> </p><p>Walks through the doorway after a hefting breath. Jason’s already in the kitchen, Bruce sitting at the table reading today's newspaper. As a kid, Dick thought it was the <em>weirdest thing</em>. Couldn’t figure out how he got the days newspaper <em>every single day</em> without him noticing. Hell, he still doesn’t know. Can’t bring himself to ask.</p><p> </p><p>Pauses, hanging in the middle of the room. Is a little surprised Bruce is even <em>in</em> the dining room. Really, the general trend this week has been skipping breakfast in the kitchen completely. Dick expected to have to chase him down. Or maybe he hoped.</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t know how ready he is for this conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Must have been standing there longer than he thought because then Jason’s there, bowls in hand. Walking towards the door with a loud and <em>slightly</em> pointed, “Well, I’m out. Have fun with <em>that</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce looks to Dick, eyebrow raised.</p><p> </p><p>Dick watches Jason walk out the door.</p><p> </p><p>Thinks he’d rather deal with punching someone in the face, doesn’t even care <em>who</em> at this point, but what else is new? Sighs.</p><p> </p><p>Looks at Bruce, manages to <em>not</em> square his shoulders. “Hey, Bruce, can we talk?” Waves his hand at the newspaper, finally walking closer. “You can finish, I’ll wait. It’s probably not a conversation for the dining room anyway.” <em>Definitely</em> not. Dick imagines someone walking in, or more likely, <em>ears dropping</em> and just. That’s a really bad idea.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce drops his newspaper like it’s hot. Rising smoothly the next second, hands brushing against his somehow smooth dress shirt. “I’m done. We can talk now.”</p><p> </p><p>And Dick feels like sighing. Imagines Bruce has been dying to ask since his text last night. Wishes he shared the sentiment.</p><p> </p><p>“Great.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They end up in his study. Bruce sitting, Dick <em>not</em>. Standing in the middle of the room, it’s all he can do not to pace. Restless energy from last night coming back, steadily building like a tidal wave. Water getting sucked to sea and now it’s rising, hurtling towards him like a walking death sentence.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, maybe not, but it’s still not <em>comfortable</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And Bruce, like always, notices.</p><p> </p><p>Looks up and Dick wishes he <em>does</em> know everything like he pretends to. “Does this have anything to do with you skipping patrol last night?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick smiles, sure it’s only kind of forced. “Uh, <em>yeah</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce folds his hands in front of him, shifting to face Dick more fully. Noticed something’s off and now he’s straight to business. “What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick breaths in before starting, “Okay, so you know how Jason’s back from wherever again?” Doesn’t pause, knows if he doesn’t get it out it’ll get lost somewhere between Bruce asking questions himself. Doesn’t know if he could answer them all anyway. “Well, he showed up a while ago and long story short was kind of worried about Tim. Which honestly, kind of needed considering he’d been awake for I-don’t-know-how-long. But then that wasn’t really <em>why</em> he was worried, but he didn’t say anything ‘cause I didn’t say anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce is watching him. Anything else forgotten in favour of staring Dick to pieces, eyes probably reading every one of his tells. Hell, probably doesn't <em>need to</em>. “And so, nothing happened. But then Tim called him up a couple of days later, <em>drunk</em>. Which really, a completely different problem for a completely different time, because <em>then</em> he said some things and Jason got <em>more</em> worried and then he told me, and we didn’t tell you ‘cause we weren’t really sure.</p><p> </p><p>“But now we’re sure because we talked to Tim, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Tim would’ve gotten really mad if we went behind his back and—”</p><p> </p><p><em>He still might and I don’t know what to <strong>do</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Dick,” Bruce breaks in, probably successfully gathering if he lets Dick continue, he’s just going to spiral back. “Breathe. What do you need to tell me?”</p><p> </p><p>And Dick does, drawing in a breath. Let’s his hands drop from where they’d been gesturing, tries not to brace his shoulders when he says, “Tim’s suicidal. Depressed.”</p><p> </p><p>Can’t help but hold his breath. Eyes watching for Bruce’s reaction which like always is sparse. Dick can see the gears whirling behind his eyes though, is already prepared when he asks, “How suicidal?”</p><p> </p><p>“He said he wanted to die, but we didn’t ask for specifics. I’d guess very,” <em>not that it fucking matters, suicidal is suicidal but that’s not what Bruce <strong>asked</strong>.</em> “And this is Tim, if he doesn’t have at least <em>one</em> plan...” Dick trails off, swallowing. Watches Bruce nod in understanding.</p><p> </p><p>“Where is he?”</p><p> </p><p>The back and forth isn’t dissimilar to an interrogation; Dick can’t say he’s surprised. “His room.” Adds when Bruce frowns, “Jason’s with him.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’ll be suspended from patrol until he can be held accountable for his own safety.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick nods, relaxing a bit. Suggests, knowing Tim would have a few keywords about <em>that</em>, “Yeah, but maybe don’t word it like that when you tell him...?” A beat then, “You <em>are</em> going to talk to him, right?” It only sounds <em>vaguely</em> accusing.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce’s lips purse and Dick straightens up on instinct. Shoulders squaring, is ready for a fight but Bruce just sighs.</p><p> </p><p>Eyes trained on Dick, confirms, “<em>Yes</em>, I’m going to talk to him.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s shoulders slump a bit. Sigh escaping him as well, lets out a quiet, “Okay good.”</p><p> </p><p>They just stare at each other for a while, caught in a standstill.</p><p> </p><p>Like always, Dick’s the one to break it, “He doesn’t want to go to a therapist. Jason was trying to convince him, but you should probably talk to him about that. Oh and, his cases? He can’t do them anymore. Not like he <em>was</em>, anyway. I’m pretty sure he’s just been distracting himself with them and like, not sleeping <em>at all</em> because last night he passed out for like 14 hours <em>straight</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick turns his eyes away from Bruce, pacing across the room before spinning to face him again, hand gestures getting grander. “I don’t know if you’ve <em>noticed</em> but Tim doesn’t sleep straight on a <em>good</em> day.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick blinks, pausing. Recaps, silent room filling up with something useful, hopes if he gives Bruce a good basis of information, they wouldn’t mess this up somehow, “Yeah so, sleep. And eating too, actually. That’s probably something we should be concerned about; I know Jason is. But then, I’m pretty sure Jason’s <em>always</em> been concerned about how much food Tim eats.”</p><p> </p><p>Huh.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce hums, “Jason’s always had an, <em>interesting</em> relationship with food.”</p><p> </p><p>O<em>kay</em> then. “I’m taking <em>that</em> as Jason having food problems as a kid just fyi.” And Bruce doesn’t correct him so, really.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, <em>sure</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Dick.” Bruce breaks before Dick can go on <em>another</em> fact rant, eyes unnerving as they continue to stare holes in Dick’s head. “Are <em>you</em> okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick blinks—pulling back in surprise. Blinks again then, “What? I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce just hums like <em>I don’t believe you but okay.</em> </p><p> </p><p>Dick frowns at him, eyebrows tightening. “I’m <em>fine</em>. Why wouldn’t I be?” Cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter, you should be having this conversation with <em>Tim</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce half raises an eyebrow, shifting in his seat in a way Dick <em>knows</em> is for appearance sake. “I will have this conversation with Tim but as you can see,”—Bruce gestures halfheartedly at the otherwise empty room— “Tim’s not here.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And all this time I thought you had <em>legs</em>.” Regards him seriously. “B, I can’t believe I’m the one to tell you this, but you can actually <em>get up </em>and<em> walk</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce continues like Dick hadn’t spoken, “Think of this as my practice run.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick huffs, head cocked sarcastically. “<em>Wow</em>. Okay then; you asked, I’m fine. Practice run <em>done</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dick.” He sighs. “Doing this isn’t helpful.”</p><p> </p><p>And maybe part of Dick knows he didn’t mean it that way, but he just <em>really doesn’t care</em>. “Right. And it’s all about me being <em>helpful</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce’s eyes narrow and suddenly Dick can’t move. Stops pacing, stops breathing; feels the buzzing under his skin halting for the first time since last night.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure it’s such a good thing.</p><p> </p><p>“What did Tim tell you?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick looks away, swallowing. “Exactly what I said.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did he say, <em>specifically</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick swallows <em>again</em> but this time it feels like the entire oceans rising in his throat. The entire oceans rising and his throats still fucking <em>shrinking</em>, and it <em>burns</em>. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We asked, he told us. It’s that simple.”</p><p> </p><p>Doesn’t look back at Bruce, stares holes in the wallpaper. Wishes it would come alive and take him away from this entire situation. Wake up tomorrow and it’ll just be some messed up dream, his subconscious playing at all his fears. All he needs is someone falling and he’s fucking <em>set</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously not.” But Bruce is speaking, and the wallpaper doesn’t move.</p><p> </p><p>He turns his eyes away.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I’m fine. Everything’s <em>fine</em>, except for the fact you’re talking to <em>me</em> and not <em>Tim</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce doesn’t stop staring. Sometimes it makes Dick want to <em>scream</em>. Most of the time he just doesn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>Sighs quietly, drawing himself up again. “Bruce, <em>please</em>. Can we not do this.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce quirks an eyebrow, and Dick doesn’t buy it for a <em>second</em>. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."</p><p> </p><p>Dick smiles, eyes rolling away. Scoffs loudly but it turns into a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not a nice laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Right</em>.” Throws a hand out, eyes snapping back again. Smile still stuck to his lips, says, “You know <em>what</em>? I’m <em>not</em> fine.” Throws his hand out again, motion caught on replay like it will make up for his smile dropping. Make up for his voice breaking, for his throat closing, <em>make up for</em>—</p><p> </p><p>“My little brother wants to <em>kill himself</em>.” Opens his mouth, hand caught midmotion, “He—” Shuts it abruptly, face contorting as he looks at Bruce. He stares back and maybe Dick’s just <em>that much</em> off his game because he has <em>no idea what he’s thinking</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Twists his gaze away, drops his head in his hand. Nails digging past his hair, squeezes his eyes shut, mouth shut <em>tighter</em>. Wishes there was a way to stop his stomach turning. Wishes there was a way to swallow the dryness in his mouth, stop the trembling at his elbow, wants to catch the buzzing below his feet and—</p><p> </p><p><em>Digs his nails in harder</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Everything feels too hot and too close and too—</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Squeezes his eyes shut <em>tighter</em>. “I should’ve noticed.”</p><p> </p><p>Tries to swallow the dryness in his mouth once, <em>twice</em>, <em>three times</em> and—</p><p> </p><p>Voice hoarse as it travels down his <em>throat</em>. “I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p><em>Keeps his eyes closed</em>, breath swelling in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry—I should’ve <em>noticed</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“Dick.”</p><p> </p><p>“—He could have been like this for <em>months</em> Bruce—”</p><p> </p><p>“Dick.”</p><p> </p><p>“—and he’s been going on patrol the entire time—he wants to <em>die,</em> and he’s been swinging over <em>rooftops</em>! I knew he was overworking himself! I <em>knew</em> and I didn’t do anything, I didn’t even <em>think</em> about it—”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Dick</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“—he could’ve <em>died,</em> Bruce. He could’ve <em>died</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick turns to face Bruce finally, hand over his mouth—shoulders shaking but all he manages to get out was, “<em>He could’ve <strong>died</strong>,</em> Bruce. My little brother could have <em>killed</em> <em>himself</em> and I didn’t even <em>notice</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce sighed, rounding his desk—moves in front of Dick, hands firmly on his shoulders. “I know, Dick. It’s not your fault.” The <em>I didn’t notice either</em> hung all too clearly in the air.</p><p> </p><p>Dick lets his head fall against Bruce’s chest for a second, breaths for <em>one, two</em> before pulling back, looking at him with a pinched expression. “Yeah, but it’s <em>your</em>s, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce just sighs again. “Dick.”</p><p> </p><p>He huffs stepping back further, Bruce’s arms dropping to his side, accuses, “No! That’s exactly what you’re doing. If it’s not my fault, how can it be <em>yours</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce shakes his head, turning away. Seconds pass and then he’s looking back, eyes hard. “I’m the <em>parent</em>. It’s my <em>job</em> to look after you—all of you.” He shakes his head again, grimacing, “I should’ve known Tim was having trouble because I should’ve <em>asked</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick just watches him for a while, doesn’t dispute because really, he <em>agrees</em>. Bruce should’ve <em>asked</em>—but Dick should’ve <em>too</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s still not your fault though.” Dick tries, sighing as well. Slumps where he stands. “It doesn’t really <em>matter</em> what we should’ve done—all that matters is we help Tim <em>now</em>, right?” Bruce’s mouth goes flat but there’s a familiar determination tightening his eyes. He nods in agreement, though it’s pretty clear he still thinks it’s his fault.</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs again—<em>that’s fine</em>, Dick still blames himself too.</p><p> </p><p><em>They should start a club</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The silence hangs for a couple beats; Dick just stands there, in the middle of B’s office. Has probably been in this exact spot a million times before, when he was a kid—now an adult. He’s always hated the chairs; Bruce moved a loveseat in from one of the sitting rooms when he was 12 after much complaining, it’s still here. In the corner.</p><p> </p><p>He’s standing in Bruce’s office and everything’s exactly the same—everything’s exactly the same, but at the same time—<em>nothing</em> <em>is</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs, exhausted with himself.</p><p> </p><p>Stalks away from Bruce, flopping down into one of the stupid, uncomfortable chairs. There’s a pause, then Bruce follows, sitting in the one next to him.</p><p> </p><p>Dick leaning forward onto the desk. Feels like he should be annoyed. Muttering, “God, this is so stupid.” Bruce hums beside him and Dick looks over at him. Saying, “This is <em>so ridiculous</em>, B.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce makes a face like he’s not sure what Dick is talking about exactly. And <em>Dick</em> isn’t even sure, exactly, but—</p><p> </p><p><em>Grh</em>. Everything feels so weird right now.</p><p> </p><p>Heaving a sigh next to Bruce. Murmuring, “What are we even going to <em>do</em>.” Looking at Bruce directly when he doesn’t immediately answer.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce is watching him carefully. Says after a second, “I don’t know.” Which is <em>such a blatant lie</em> Dick actually laughs. Breathing in a breath as he looks to Bruce again. Watching him quirk half an amused eyebrow back. Like he’s offended Dick finds that statement ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice try, but that’s not reassuring.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce crosses his arms lightly, leaning back with a shrug that rolls his shoulders. “It wasn’t meant to be.” But Dick thinks he looks a little pleased with himself anyway. Both of them falling quiet for a while.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce is breaking it this time. Dick looking up from studying the desk. B asking, “What do <em>you</em> think we should do?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick blinking at him, taken aback for a second. “<em>Hm</em>.” Tries to think up something revolutionary, tries to think up <em>anything</em> he hasn’t already said. “I dunno, B.” Looks to Bruce. “I think you should be asking Tim that.” Because he <em>does</em>. “I think...” He regards Bruce for a careful second himself. Saying, “If you play it right, you’ll get a different reaction out of Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce doesn’t look very moved by this. Asks, “And how do I do that?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick scoffs. Folding his arms on the desk and leaning forward again. Mutters, chin resting against his forearm, “I can’t tell you what to do, Bruce.” That’s only missing the entire <em>point</em>. Then, “I don’t know, B. Be <em>nice</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce huffs but Dick doesn’t look over. Listening as he says dryly, “Thank you, Dick. That was very helpful.”</p><p> </p><p>Lips curling in a grin. Says back, watching the wall, “You’re welcome, B.”</p><p> </p><p>Continues after a second, sounding thoughtful, “Y’know, I think you should burn these chairs.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce sighs, getting up and Dick can imagine the head shake without looking over. “I’m not burning the chairs, Dick.” Like that’s a completely reasonable response.</p><p> </p><p>“But they’re <em>awful</em>.” Twisting his head around to look at him before getting up too. “You have to admit that, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce just saying again, walking to the door, “I’m not burning the chairs.”</p><p> </p><p>Which, Dick is taking as blatant agreement. “So, you admit they’re terrible!”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce sighs, looking over his shoulder with a barely concealed eye roll. “They’re fine, Dick.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick muttering, “They’re awful.” Then, only slightly louder, “I bet Jason would agree with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce slows enough for Dick to walk beside him. Not looking over as he says, “I’m sure Jason would agree with you about a lot of things involving arson.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick rolling his eyes this time. “It’s not <em>arson</em>. God, you’re so dramatic.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce glancing sideways, raising an eyebrow. Says, “You want to burn my desk chairs.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s just reasonable.” Bruce not looking to agree at all and Dick sighs. “Fine! Give them away. Oh!” Looks to Bruce. “Give them to someone you <em>really</em> hate.” Tries to think of someone suitable. Saying, “Give them to Ra’s.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dick.” Bruce huffs. “That’s a terrible idea.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick muttering back, “So was buying those chairs and yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dick,” Bruce says, sounding exasperated as he looks. “Go find Jason and Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Then, “Burn your desk chairs.” Before turning on his heel and walking off to find Tim and Jason.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce calling after, “Do <em>not</em> burn anything!”</p><p> </p><p>Dick murmuring, “I don’t like giving empty promises, B.” Winding through the halls again.</p><p> </p><p>Pausing somewhere in the middle of his trek when he finds Alfred.</p><p> </p><p>“Alfred,” he says, walking over. “Hey.” Grins at him in a way that must spell trouble from the look Alfred gives him. Continues, “You’d help me burn B’s chairs, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred turns to him fully, look <em>staying</em>. Saying, “Master Dick, I’m sure there’s something about unnecessary property damage in my contract.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” Dick presses. “<em>Really</em>?” Says when Alfred just quirks half a face, “How about <em>necessary</em> property damage then.” Alfred looks like he might say something chastising and Dick quickly breaks in, holding both hands up in affront, “What? I’m just <em>saying</em>.” Adds, “<em>Some</em> might consider it an obligatory evil.”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred <em>hmm</em>s. Saying, “Really, Master Dick?” Then slightly more pointed, “<em>You</em> wouldn’t know such a person, would you?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighs at him. <em>No burning B’s chairs, then</em>. “No,” he says evenly, aiming a sullen look. “Guess not.”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred eyes him a second longer before humming in agreement and turning to continue down the hall. Dick skipping a step to follow, walking beside him.</p><p> </p><p>Starts, “<em>So</em>.” Glancing over at Alfred, thrums his fingers against his thigh a couple times. Looking at him as he asks, “How’s Tim?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d say he’s fairing just as well as everyone <em>else</em> in this household.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick pulls a face. “That’s not true.”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred raises an eyebrow, continues pointedly, “That is to say, he is <em>fairing</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Dick says. “Oh, yeah. Huh.” Beats his fingers against his thigh again. Looking over, twisting half a curling smile, “Yeah, I guess so.” Looks over to Alfred with his grin, tongue between his teeth. Says, “Yeah, you’re probably right, Alfred.”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred’s eyebrows lift, pulling a face like he really doesn’t appreciate Dick’s implied doubt in him.  “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick swallows his laughter. Looking over as he hums his grin into something smaller. Says, “Thanks, Alfie.”</p><p> </p><p>Watches Alfred look over, expression already echoing his words back again. Dick raps his fingers across his thigh, thinks things are probably going to work out.</p><p> </p><p>Definitely.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Of course.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys, thanks for reading! I’m honestly not so in love with this one but I hope you all liked it! :) Feel free to come yell at me about anything you’re concerned about, I’m really trying not to romanticize so if you pick up on anything please tell me.</p><p>Also, also! Do any of you have anything you’d be interested in seeing w/ Cass and Steph? They’re coming in further in the series but I’d like your impute. Andddd do you have any of Tim’s friends you’d like to see show up? I’m kind of throwing ideas around and I’m the first to admit I don’t know much about his Titan run, so give me some characters and I’ll do my research ;) (But again, don’t expect that to come in soon, I’m talking wayyyy further in the series)</p><p>And as always, comments are appreciated and add ten years to my life ;) I'm not super set in where I'm going with the next one (hopefully Bruce's POV) so also feel free to tell me anything you'd like to see with him + Tim!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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